


The Time of Our Gladness

by Zombubble



Series: Yamim Tovim [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Domestic victuuri, Fake Fruit, Family, Fluff, Jewish Character, Jewish Holidays, Jewish Victor Nikiforov, Jewish Viktor Nikiforov, M/M, Sukkot | Tabernacles, VictUuri, Yuuri is confused, also starring an unfortunate gust of wind, and fun, and lukewarm tea, and tries soda, but damn they're getting there, but his general attitude is "let's just go with it", canonverse, friends - Freeform, like a supplement, lulav and etrog, makka loves his sukkah and yuuri's gonna be such a good dog dad to him, makkachin is a thief I say, makkachin sukkah, not yet boyfriends, sukkah building, supportive Yuuri, takes place before in accordance with your words, the giant lemon makes its appearance, viktor contemplates life, well the first chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-01-09 16:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12280332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zombubble/pseuds/Zombubble
Summary: Holiday fic for Sukkot. Yuuri is not quite sure why Viktor's building a shack in their backyard, but he's gonna roll with it. Viktor tries to figure out how people do this every year.Yuuri wonders why Viktor has a giant lemon.Takes place post-CSK Championships, pre-CoC





	1. Huts

Six days before Sukkot, Viktor’s standing with one hand on his hips in the early afternoon sun, wiping sweat off his forehead. Piles of bamboo and thatching, and several kilometers of rope it seems, is strewn around the private yard in the onsen.  The rough, uneven bones of a shack are lashed together, swaying gently in the breeze. Makkachin is laying on the porch, chewing on a toy that looks like a stuffed lemon stuck to a palm branch. Viktor’s v-neck is damp at the back of his neck, and he’s picking up his water bottle when he sees Yuuri walk out with a tray holding refreshments and a long box with Hebrew lettering on the side.

Viktor walks over, seating himself on the edge of the porch just before Yuuri sits cross-legged next to him.  “You have a package,” Yuuri says, holding the box out carefully. Viktor takes it, thanking him and looking it over slowly for any damage, before setting it gently to the side in favor of the snacks on Yuuri’s tray. The snacks Yuuri brought out are comprised mostly of various stuffed breads and mochi, attractively arranged on a plate next to glasses of cold green tea.

Yuuri hands Viktor a bun stuffed with red beans and chestnuts before taking a large bite of his own. “How’s it going?” Yuuri asks, glancing at the makeshift bamboo structure.

“It could be better. It keeps falling over when I try to add anything to it, though. I’ve never had to build a sukkah on my own.”

“Build a what now?”

“A…..ok for this holiday…..we’re supposed to build…” he frowns, trying to figure out how to explain in English. “We build little houses outside, called sukkot, and eat in them and sleep in them when we can because ….we had them in the desert and stuff. After leaving Egypt.”

Yuuri looks puzzled. “Didn’t...ok, so you had the New Year, but I thought the next holiday was the serious one? The one where you’re not gonna eat all day. You didn’t say anything about building houses and Egypt when you told me about it.”

Viktor sighs softly. “That IS the next one, but the one I’m building the sukkah for starts four days later. I want to have this up before that starts so I don’t have to worry about it.”

“Starts?! When does it end?”

Viktor takes a bite of his bun, chewing thoughtfully. “Eight days. It lasts eight days.”

Yuuri’s eyes widen. “How many holidays do you have?” he asked in disbelief.

Viktor blinks a few times before shrugging. “A lot, I guess. Sukkot ends with another one celebrating the Torah, then there’s Chanukkah, Tu B’Shevat,” he starts counting on his fingers, “Purim, Pesach, Tu B’Av, and then Rosh Hashanah, which is the one that just passed.”

“With the apples and honey?”

“That’s the one,” Viktor replies, “though I know there are some others I’m forgetting.” He sighs and finishes his bun, stirring his tea before taking a sip. A cool breeze rushes through the yard, followed promptly by slight groaning and a large crash.

Both of them look up suddenly, looking for the source of the noise. It takes Viktor a second to notice his painstakingly built frame is in a heap on the ground, a tangle of bamboo and rope barely resembling the admittedly lackluster structure it had been.

Viktor’s shoulders fall as he lets out another sigh. “At this rate, it’s going to take days,” he laments.

When Viktor looks up Yuuri’s face is caught between looks of sympathy and amusement. Yuuri quickly tries to hide his burgeoning smile behind his tea, taking a long drink before setting his glass down and promptly taking a huge bite of his food.

Viktor smiles and goes over to the remains of his latest attempt, deftly untying the rope and carefully stacking the bamboo to the side. As he’s finishing, he’s joined by Yuuri, now wearing tennis shoes and a hat.

“Maybe it’ll be easier with two,” Yuuri remarks.

Viktor looks at him, smiling. Yuuri’s eyes are bright, even shaded by the brim of his baseball cap. His cheeks are flushed, from the heat, Viktor assumes. Viktor wipes sweat off his forehead again, still unaccustomed to such high temperatures so late in the year. Yuuri is walking around the yard, looking at the space Viktor’s cleared near one of the smaller hot springs guests don’t have access to. Viktor can’t help but stare as Yuuri moves smoothly around the stacked bamboo, stepping carefully over the piles of rope, jeans hugging his thighs and well-worn t-shirt draped nicely across his torso.

“Viktor!”

He’s snapped out of his reverie by Yuuri looking at him expectantly, holding a small pad of paper and a pen. “Y-yes?” he stammers, willing himself not to blush and failing miserably.

“I was asking what it was supposed to look like?”

“Oh, nothing fancy. Three walls and a roof with enough holes you can see the stars.”

Yuuri looks at him incredulously. “That’s it?”

“Before the decorations, it is.”

“What’s the use of a roof if you can see the stars through it?”

“Because it’s _holy,_ Yuuri. _Hole_ -ey” Viktor deadpans, looking Yuuri straight in the eye.

It only takes seconds before they’re both laughing, leaning on each other for support. Yuuri’s body is shaking, doubled over as it is, and Viktor can’t help but smile even more.

Dusk is starting to fall by the time they have a seemingly sturdy frame set up, beams criss-crossed on top waiting for the foliage that will make up the roof, and tarps folded next to the frame, ready to be secured to three of the four sides. After admiring their handiwork, they sit on the deck, picking at the long-forgotten snacks and finishing the dregs of the green tea Yuuri had brought out.


	2. Fruits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Sukkot-related drabble wherein Viktor contemplates life and drinks Japanese soda.
> 
> There's also decorating to be done.

Three days before Sukkot, Viktor is following Yuuri home from a craft store, holding a bag of fall-themed garlands, plastic fruits and vegetables, twine, several boxes of fairy lights, and a mug with a poodle on it that looks startlingly like Makkachin. Yuuri pulls out his phone, checks his notifications, and holds it out to Viktor. “The Nishigoris are up to coming over to help us with the decorations, apparently the girls are making paper chains to put up in your…soo-kah.”

Viktor laughs warmly. They wander the maze of streets, surrounded by shops and banners, all passing by in blur. Having been in Japan for several months, Viktor is more often able to make some sense of the various signage with a bit of effort, oftentimes understanding one or two kanji. He can read the kana, thanks in no small part to Yuuri and his family, and it helps when he gets lost walking Makka and has to call for directions. While Viktor no longer fears getting horribly lost, Yuuri’s presence is a comfort. Viktor watches as he confidently navigates the streets, pointing out various shops he likes and places that hold fond memories. He briefly wonders if this is how Yuuri would feel if he ever visited Viktor in St. Petersburg. He lets out a sigh – after five years of living in the United States, Yuuri is probably far less affected when surrounded by an unfamiliar language and writing system.

Having never really spoken to Yuuri when he wasn’t completely plastered, and having never heard him speak English outside of probably-rehearsed statements to foreign press, Viktor is often surprised at the ease with which the language rolls off Yuuri’s tongue. His accent sounds almost American to Viktor’s (admittedly unreliable) ears, the structured English of academic instruction mixing fluidly with American slang and idioms. It’s not that he’s not confident about his language skills. He’s been navigating the English-heavy skating world for well over a decade, but he can’t help, sometimes, but to hear the way his accent folds words unnaturally.

“Viktor?” Yuuri’s voice startles him. He looks over. “So,” Yuuri continues, gesturing at the bag in Viktor’s hand, “what’s with the fake food?”

“We’re gonna hang it up in the Sukkah.” He sees Yuuri’s eyebrow rise, a question forming in his lips. “It’s for decoration,” he says, “since it’s a harvest holiday. It’s why I asked your mom to get some extra seasonal fruits and vegetables, too…” Viktor trails off, biting his lower lip.

Yuuri nods in understanding. Harvest festivals seem to be something he isn’t unfamiliar with. Viktor whistles softly as they near their destination, following Yuuri through a side gate into the yard with the sukkah.

In all honesty, he’s glad to see it’s still standing.  Building it had been enough of a hassle, even after Yuuri’d volunteered to help. Between the two of them, it’d taken hours to finish the frame alone.  Putting branches on top to form the roof had resulted in more than one impromptu “sword” fight, a small, goofy procession around the yard, and the unpleasantly abrupt realization that if they wanted any of it to stay, they’d had to tie it down. Sea breezes in an ocean town had a way of undoing their hard work in a flurry of falling leaves and branches strewn across the yard.

Yuuri disappears inside briefly, leaving his shoes on the ground near the porch. When he returns, he’s carrying two unusually shaped glass bottles. “Want some pop?”

Viktor looks up at him quizzically as he sits on the edge of the porch, putting his shoes back on. “What’s being popped?”

“Pop.” Yuuri repeats. “Like Pepsi and Dr. Pepper and stuff.” He holds up the bottles, rocking them gently from side to side.

Viktor squints at the bottles. The labels are in Japanese, but the pictures of strawberries on the side indicate their contents.

“They’re the ones I told you about, with the glass ball. You said you wanted to try it, right?”

Viktor nods.

Four minutes later, after a demonstration by Yuuri, he manages to pop the glass marble into the bottle, and smiles as he takes the first sip of his (arguably) hard-won reward. A gentle breeze washes through the yard, and Viktor can’t help but glance at the sukkah, half expecting it to topple over again.

He smiles and feels warm inside when it doesn’t. It’s a far cry from the large sukkah his synagogue had each year, full of people celebrating around platters of fruit and fresh bread, but it’s _his_ sukkah (that he built with _Yuuri_ , he reminds himself). He can feel the tips of his ears grow hot as he takes an awkward sip of soda. Yuuri, meanwhile, is leaning back on one arm, sitting a few feet away, bottle in his hand half-empty and a peaceful smile on his face. The afternoon sun brings out dark brown highlights in his hair. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks behind his glasses. Viktor looks across the yard, watching as Makkachin alternates between following his nose and chasing insect, eventually finding a nice grassy spot to lay down.

The arrival of the Nishigori family brings with it a flurry of activity. Fake fruits are hung from the roof, while the girls color pictures for the walls. A fake apple falls prey to Makkachin’s curiosity, ending up a nearly unrecognizable piece of plastic. Viktor laughs and puts it on the table they’ve moved towards the rear of the structure. When the decorations are up to the Nishigori triplets’ exacting standards, Hiroko is calling them in for dinner. Yuuri stays behind everyone else, just for a second, with a contemplative look on his face. When Viktor touches his shoulder softly, he smiles, and they head inside together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sometimes your computer restarts and you can't find your saved files for a few days and everything sucks.
> 
> I have one more drabble planned for Sukkot, but might write a few if ideas come to me. Next holiday is Chanukkah, but I'm planning on some stuff between now and then.
> 
> Including an AU which has taken much of my attention over the past week and a half or so?
> 
> Anyway, you can find me on Tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon](http://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!!!


	3. Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night of Sukkot.
> 
> Bread is broken, secrets are shared, and Makkachin is a bedwarmer.

When Viktor walks out of the onsen the next morning, Yuuri’s sitting on a rock near the sukkah with a mug of something caffeinated and a pleased look on his face. Makkachin, absent when Viktor woke up, is still nowhere to be found. He sits on the porch, sliding on his tennis shoes, before he strolls over to Yuuri.

There’s a mischievous glint in Yuuri’s eye, his smile just a bit more eager than Viktor’s used to. He raises his eyebrow before Yuuri pointedly looks at the finished sukkah. Viktor goes to look it over, carefully examining it for any missing branches or structural problems, before he notices what’s _next to_ it.

Makkachin is curled up, asleep, in a tiny sukkah no more than three feet high. Its construction mimics that of the larger one, and children’s drawings line the wall. On closer inspection, Viktor notes that they’re all of Makkachin, curled up in a tiny house or eating fruits and vegetables, and his heart warms. If the Nishigori triplets had made art, it means they’d been asked to. He feels Yuuri come up next to him, and he smiles.

“The pictures say ‘Makkachin’s……sekkah’ and umm, ‘sekkot congratulations’.” Yuuri laughs, softly. “They wanted it to be festive. Loop wanted to make garlands until I reminded her Makka would probably eat the fake fruit.”

“You did this for me?” Viktor asks, somewhat awed and definitely almost giddy.

“Technically I did it for Makka,” Yuuri replies with a wry grin. “He helped, so I guess that, uh, ‘fulfills the mitzvah’ for him? I don’t know how all this works.”

“He helped?”

“Moral support.”

 

~*~

 

Yuuri spends the afternoon in the kitchen with Viktor at his side, deftly putting together recipes Viktor found that sounded good, and helping Hiroko and Toshiya with whatever tasks they need done in the meantime. It takes a while, but the dishes for the celebration later that night slowly come together, and by the time evening rolls around there’s a veritable feast in front of them. With Mari’s help, they carry it all out to the table set up in the larger sukkah, covering the food with netting to keep bugs off.

The onsen closes early that night, guests petering out on their own, and the Nishigori family arrives with snacks and their three boisterous children for Makkachin to play with. The yard fills with laughter and joy as the adults finish laying out dishes and cutlery. Viktor brings out some bread he’d made the night before, beautifully braided loaves of challah that stand proud in the center of the table before they’re demolished. Yuuri remembers him making it, sleeves rolled up and hair pulled back with a hairband. He pictures Viktor’s strong arms punching and kneading the dough, deft hands braiding six strands with practiced ease. It’s not an unattractive memory.

The Hebrew-covered box reappears before sunset, Viktor (now wearing a kippah) carrying it to the sukkah carefully. Whatever Yuuri expects to see when the package is opened, however, certainly isn’t some sort of plant with a handle and a giant lemon.

And he certainly doesn’t expect to see Viktor clasp both in hand, walk some distance, and start shaking them while muttering Hebrew under his breath. He does this six times, facing each cardinal direction, and then looking down, and finally looking up. When he’s done, he walks back over, cheeks flushed and eyes shining.

Yuuri raises his eyebrows. “So. Giant lemon?”

“It’s an etrog.” Viktor holds up the plant-thing. “This is a lulav.”

“Why, though?”

Viktor shrugs. “Tradition?” He smiles as if there’s some sort of inside joke connected to the word.

Yuuri just shrugs in response.

 

Dinner is eaten in a flurry of laughter and good-natured ribbing. After the main meal is done, fresh fruit is cut up and passed around, quickly staining fingers as everyone enjoys the dessert. When the last of the plates are cleared, and the sticky fruit juice cleaned from the table, the Nishigori family take their leave. The Katsuki parents finish preparations for the morning as Mari folds the last of the linens, bidding them goodnight as they go to bed.

Yuuri and Viktor spend a while in the hot springs, sitting in companionable silence, before Viktor shifts in the water. He looks over at Yuuri, face contemplative. Yuuri blushes, re-wetting his towel, but after a few minutes he stares back, meeting Viktor’s eyes.

“Is something bothering you?”

Viktor flushes. “Not really.”

Yuuri shrugs and leans back against the rocks, letting the steam wash over him.

“Yuuri?” Viktor’s voice is unusually hesitant.

“What is it?”

Viktor takes a deep breath. “Part of sukkot is spending at least one night sleeping in the sukkah, under the stars.”

Ahh. “I can bring a futon out,” Yuuri offers. “We have enough blankets that you shouldn’t be cold. We can even put some down in Makka’s sukkah, if you like.”

Viktor nods, but something in his face looks disappointed.

It’s just a few minutes more before they abandon the hot springs. They get dressed, both in the warm robes of the onsen, before Yuuri grabs bedding out of the storage room. The table and chairs are broken down in short order, easily stashed in the shed out back, and after laying a tarp on the ground, they set up the futon. Everything is in place, but as Yuuri goes to say goodnight, he sees Viktor looking morose.

“Did I do something wrong?” The words are out of Yuuri’s mouth before he has time to think about them.

Viktor looks at him kindly. “No, you haven’t done anything wrong.” He smiles, but it’s not his usual heart-shaped grin so much as it is the plastic cheerfulness of forced geniality.

Yuuri bites his lip. “Well, obviously _something’s_ wrong.” When Viktor raises one of his (perfect) eyebrows, Yuuri barrels on. “You’re doing it…you’re doing the _thing._ With your face.”

And now Viktor looks confused. Yuuri grumbles a bit in Japanese, trying to find the English to explain what he means.

“You’re giving me that smile you give reporters and people you don’t want to talk to. The fake one. You’ve been here since April, Viktor,” he says earnestly, “that’s five months of seeing you every day. I know what your fake smile looks like.”

Viktor’s face falls.

Yuuri walks over, concerned. “If there’s something you want to ask me, ask me. I told you, I just want you to be _you,_ Viktor. Good _and_ bad.” He watches as Viktor take a deep breath, swallowing and looking down.

“Usually, when we slept in the sukkah it would be my whole family. All of us out there, under the stars, with a few space heaters and lots of blankets.”

_Oh._

“You could have just asked, if you wanted me to sleep outside with you,” Yuuri replies cheerfully.

Viktor’s jaw clenches, briefly, before he responds. “Last time I asked if you wanted to sleep with me, you slammed the door in my face, so forgive me if I didn’t want to ask again.”

Yuuri winces. He looks down at his hands, twisting together nervously.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, after a while. “You didn’t deserve that. I overreacted.” When he looks back up, Viktor’s got a smile on his face. Yuuri frowns.

“Was it the posters?”

_Oh no._

_No._

“Th-the what?!” Yuuri’s face grows heated, the tips of his ears burning with shame.

“Yuuri, I’m down the hall from you, you left your door open when you went to the bathroom.”

_This can’t be happening._

“I’ll sign them, if you want!” If Viktor wasn’t smiling before, he certainly is now. Yuuri buries his face in his hands, squatting down until he’s almost sunk into the floor.

“I can’t believe you saw them.”

Viktor laughs. “I found it adorable! I could tell you were a fan from your skating, but that was completely unexpected!”

It’s at this point Yuuri gives up, sprawling out on the hardwood. He pointedly doesn’t look in Viktor’s direction. Viktor’s bare feet come into his line of vision, and he looks the other way.

“Leave me here to die.”

Viktor chuckles, squatting next to him. “How are you going to win gold at the Grand Prix Final if you die in your hallway?”

Yuuri groans. He’ll find a way. He’s forced to sit up when a wet, pink dog tongue assaults his face. He moves up to lean against the wall as Makkachin continues with his onslaught. Finally managing to shove the poodle off himself, he looks up and is met with the sight of Viktor holding his hand out. Blue eyes sparkle above flushed cheeks, and Yuuri’s breath catches in his throat. He reaches out, taking the proffered hand, and uses the leverage to get to his feet.

“Give me five minutes.”

 

Yuuri’s outside in ten, a thermos in his arms and another blanket over his shoulders. He lays the blanket over the futon, before sitting next to Viktor at the head. “I made us some tea,” he explains, pouring two mugs of the steaming liquid. They drink in silence, Makkachin curled between them. When the thermos is empty, they set it aside and shimmy under the blankets. The stars shine bright overhead, glimmering through the gaps in the roof.

“It’s beautiful,” Yuuri says breathlessly.

“Chag Sameach, Yuuri.”

Yuuri leans up on one elbow. “Hog, what?”

Viktor repeats himself, emphasizing the guttural ‘ch’. “It’s basically ‘Happy Holiday’.”

“Oh,” Yuuri says, rolling onto his back. He pulls the blankets to his chin.

“Chag Sameach, Viktor.”

Yuuri's almost asleep, drifting in a warm haze, when he feels fingertips brush his hair out of his face. Viktor’s voice, murky, makes its way through the haze, but Yuuri drifts into oblivion before he can react to what is said.

“I have your posters, too.”

 

~*~

 

Mari finds them the next morning, curled up and facing each other. Their legs are entangled and hands twined together, Makkachin a lump under the blankets in the corner. She leaves them another thermos of tea, smiling as she closes the door quietly behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter's a bit late. 
> 
> Quite a bit late.
> 
> Apologies. (￣▽￣;)ゞ
> 
> Enjoy, and I'm hoping Chanukkah is up on time.

**Author's Note:**

> Work title comes from the Kiddush for Sukkot.
> 
> A series of drabbles taking place before and throughout the eight days of Sukkot.
> 
> My goal was to have it up yesterday but after YK and house stuff I wasn't able to post it till tonight. A good chunk of the next part is written, though, so there's that at least.
> 
> I can be found on Tumblr at [@we-call-everything-katsudon](http://we-call-everything-katsudon.tumblr.com/)


End file.
